


Hanzo Shimada has a farm...

by Camfield



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cowcree, M/M, Milking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: And Jesse is a cow-o.First chapter is sfw, second is not.





	Hanzo Shimada has a farm...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camwritesshit.tumblr.com

The barn is warm when Hanzo steps in, closing the big door behind him to keep the still chilled air from rushing in. There’s little movement this early, but that’s part of the reason he’s up and working already. It gives him time to start chores and get things done before the world wakes and starts to hustle and bustle.

Plus, he finds it comfortable in the quiet.

So one task at a time he works, cleaning and sterilizing equipment and setting up glass bottles. A small enough operation that it can be done by hand, though he keeps a set of cups and flanges ready anyway.

...not that he truly likes using them, no, he’s found the enjoyment of hand expression suits both him and his cow rather well.

Then he’s off to Jesse’s stall with the custom made bucket and a small smile on his face, chuckling softly when he hears the lowing coming from the cow’s stall. Opening the door and walking inside with a gentle click of his tongue. Moving the bucket aside so it isn’t squashed between them when Jesse comes over and presses up against him. Shoulder first, dipped and pushed against the farmer’s chest firmly, a sign the cow is happy to see him.

“Yes, yes, I am happy to see you too. The night was long, I know.”

Hanzo can’t help but smile even wider though, he appreciates the warm welcome that comes every morning. It is something to look forward to, and he does.

Gently he pushes Jesse off and attaches the bucket to a harness. Patting the tall milking stool and waiting until the cow is settled before slipping it over horns and head to rest it carefully just below the swollen pectorals. The design fits close to the strong torso, curved in the right spots to catch milk whether it sprays or drips, an invention of Hanzo’s own after so many frustrations with regular ones.

Ears perk and shift, listening to movements and finally, Hanzo presses up against his milker’s back and reaches around to cup each pectoral firmly. There’s a soft sound of relief as he begins to first gently massage them, encouraging them to let down, then knead in rolling motions. Firm into the muscle and milk sack, steady pressure to the nipple and release to move back. Working to the music of soft grunts and lowing, the shuffling of hooves and rasp of fur. Tail whipping around every so often to knock against his legs, like a reminder that it's there. Something Hanzo forgot one time and forever must endure the repercussions of, even though he'd apologized over and over again.

It's soothing in some ways, the sound of milk hitting the wall of the bucket in rhythmic waves. His hands are sure and certain at the work, and though he can see over Jesse's shoulder into the bucket often times he simply closes his eyes to indulge in his other senses. The feel of both muscle and the minute vibration each spray causes. The shift of heat and mass below his own chest, their breathing both when it synchronizes and when it does not. The sounds that come with life, the inner workings of the body that a man can hear when he is pressed so closely to another being. Heartbeat, digestive system, the whoosh and swish and a myriad of other small things no one pays any mind to usually. Even the hands that inevitably come up to grasp his own when they near the end. Wrists stroked, hands petted, part of the ritual that they complete each morning, with Jesse becoming more and more touchy the closer to the end it is until only drops remain able to be pulled with his fingers and the cow lets out a pleased, rumbling sound that never fails to make Hanzo chuckle. Only then does he open his eyes back up again.

Then he carefully pulls away and stands up, walking around to unharness the bucket from the cow's front and take the fresh, frothy milk over to pour it into the bottles. One and a quarter, though once all the cats have their share he'll be left with half of one, enough for his own needs. They're capped and placed out of the stall before he turns around to find Jesse up off the stool and prancing on his hooves, looking at Hanzo rather expectantly.

"No, I have not forgotten, you are impatient."

The look he gets is a dirty one, Jesse whipping his tail around and bringing his hands in to cup his own pectorals pointedly. There's still droplets clinging to each, and though he's the one who proclaimed the cow impatient, Hanzo finds himself walking over quickly once his attention is brought to where those hands frame. Though this time it's him that sits on the stool, adjusting it with a lever on the side and spreading his knees to accomodate the bulk that eagerly presses between them. Hands dropping from chest to reach out and grasp Hanzo's shoulders, holding him as he obligingly opens his mouth and takes the first nipple in. Suckling on it to pull the last of the milk out and letting his own hands rest around the furry hips to keep himself from sighing in pleasure.

It's thick, creamy and warm. The last of the hindmilk, fatty and delicious and sweet as it streams into his mouth. Eyes slit, barely open. Mouth working each drop he can, and the sounds change the longer he does so. From himself he can recognize the soft grunts of pleasure and rasp of breath through his nose. From Jesse, something that sounds almost like cooing, encouragement against his suckling. The smell is stronger too, hay and dust and musk and milk, all of it mixing in his nose to complete the experience.

Only when prodded does he release the first pectoral, nuzzling to the other side without fully opening his eyes to latch back on. Gripping tighter when again the fresh milk floods over senses and sets him alight into sensation and comfort. Suckling slower, so that it takes longer to empty the second side and prolongs the moment. When he's nudged off, however, he doesn't protest. He simply releases the swollen nipple and breathes a sigh of contentment. Taking a moment before he stands and moves the stool back to the side where it belongs, reaching to stroke over hair and ears when he passes Jesse by to open the stall door up again.

"Alright then, out you go."

Hanzo has to laugh when he's hit by a swishing tail as Jesse trots by to go into the pasture, eager to get out into the rising sun and bask in the warmth of summer. Then he turns and starts his own chores up once again, cleaning the stall and feeding the rest of the animals.

It'd be time for the night milking soon enough.


End file.
